New kid
by ds96
Summary: Sam once again finds himself the new kid at a high school. Unfortunately, he also finds himself the target of the local gang of bullies. Teen!chester - Dean is 21 and Sam is 16. Plenty of protective!Dean and brotherly!Dean and limp!Sam. Please review!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys, I know this chapter is majorly short but I really wanted to finish the first chapter without developing the story any further. So don't worry, the future chapters will be longer. Please review and tell me what you like/don't like to help provide me with some direction for the story. Thanks to everyone who's reading!**

Sam's eyesight was going a little blurry from looking at all the road signs passing by with speed. He blinked a little and looked away out the front windscreen.

John was driving, concentrating hard in order to keep himself awake. He'd switched on the aircon in an attempt to keep himself conscious, and, despite the bitter cold inside the car, Sam didn't dare protest. It certainly beat the alternative; that is, lying dead in a ditch because John couldn't stay awake. So he kept his mouth shut, and watched the cars and signs and trees passing by in a flash, lit only by the occasional dim, orange road light and the bright headlights on the front of the impala.

Dean was snoring loudly with his head hanging over the side of the passenger seat next to John. His mouth was gaping open and Sam could make out a small trickle of dribble hanging off his chin.

_Gross_

Sam figured the only reason John hadn't ripped Dean to pieces for his snoring was because it was keeping him awake, so he thought it best he didn't intervene either. John turned up the radio that was playing a _Metallica _song, and leant forward, practically resting his chin on the steering wheel.

Sam glanced at the clock – 1:13am – and decided to get some rest. There were still a few hours left to go before they arrived in Illinois, and he wasn't sure if he was going to be going on the hunt this time or not. He shut his eyes and leant against the window, shivering from the cold, and drifted into a slumber.

0-0-0-0-0-0

"Hey, sleeping beauty, time to get up" Dean laughed from the front seat. Sam groggily opened his eyes and poked his tongue out at Dean

"Shut it, I'm awake"  
"Ooh touchy, touchy" he tormented sarcastically

Sam laughed in unison with Dean and stepped out of the car onto the pavement. His legs were still asleep and he had to grip the roof of the car to keep himself propped up.

He sighed, _another motel._ Not that he'd expected different, but the sight of dodgy half-broken neon signs showing that there was vacancy was starting to make Sam sick to the stomach. John chucked Sam's duffle at his feet as he carried his own and a separate bag containing his laptop and a few other odds and ends into the reception. Sam and Dean waited by the car for John to return, and Dean cracked open a bottle of beer.  
"Jeez Dean you're already turning into an alcoholic" Sam scoffed

"Hey, give me a break buddy, I'm just enjoying my newfound liberty"  
Sam laughed; Dean had turned 21 two months ago, in January, and had since been loving the fact that he could legally drink. Of course, legalities had never stopped him in the past, but he seemed to enjoy how old it made him feel.

John headed back from reception carrying a key in his hand and the boys quickly followed behind him, entering into room 36.

"Not too shabby, not too shabby" Dean remarked in his sarcastic voice that Sam heard all-too-often.

The room certainly was shabby; three single beds lay side by side against the right wall, which was draped in some horrible, 1970s looking wallpaper. The other side of the room consisted of a torn up couch facing the small box that was the television, and in the corner a bench about a metre wide stood next to a bar fridge and a plastic table and some chairs.

This didn't really bother the Winchesters, they were all used to it. All Sam could remember since he was a kid was living in and out of motel rooms, and the closest thing they had to a home was probably Bobby's. Dean, however, had fond memories of a place he once called home, and this only made staying the motels worse.

Sam was last to claim a bed, and so was left with the one in the middle, between his father and brother's. Sam was a little disappointment at their dwellings for the next few weeks, but accepted it nonetheless, mostly because he knew there was no alternative. John still had no idea what it was he was hunting, which meant they were going to be here a while, at least a month. John figured he may as well enroll Sam in a school for the time being, its not like Sam was getting any smarter. So, the next day Sam would be beginning his schooling at the local high school. The town wasn't big, but it wasn't small either, so he was glad to expect that he'd be able to blend in without being noticed.

Dean immediately dropped onto the couch and switched on the TV, and Sam sat on the opposite side to join him. John put on a warmer jacket and pulled out his wallet, dropping a 20 on the countertop next to the keys for the impala.

"Hey, I'm goin' out to meet Bobby, see if he can help me figure out what this thing is. I'll probably be gone a few days, call me if you need anything. And Dean, remember to drop Sam at school in the morning."  
"Yeah, sure thing". Dean responded without looking up from the television "Like he'd let me forget anyway" he joked.

"See you later boys"  
"Bye dad" the brothers responded simultaneously.  
"Oh and Dean, don't forget – salt lines" John added in sternly, pointing at Dean as he left. Dean nodded his head and gave his father a look that said _be careful._

A couple minutes after John left, Dean forced himself to stand up. "I'm goin' to the store to pick up a few things, you need anything?"

"Nope" Sam responded, and Dean picked up the keys to the car and the 20 dollar bill John had left on his way out the door.

Suddenly, Sam felt eerily unsafe. He was alone in the room, which was unprotected as Dean had just left to get some salt. He looked around for Dean's duffle, and when he found it, vigorously searched through it only to discover that Dean had in fact taken his gun.

Unsurprised, Sam tried to calm himself by exhaling and closing his eyes. Suspecting that he was just overreacting, has he so often did, Sam simply collected his silver pocket knife from his bag and tucked it into the back of his belt and sat back down on the couch, but switched off the television.

Indulging himself in some reading material, Sam was gladly distracted from his irrational paranoia. He was reading a copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird, _the book prescribed to his class at his last school, back in Minnesota, a few weeks ago. He wasn't sure if they'd still be studying it at his new school, or if they even did at all, but there was nothing on TV and he had to distract himself. Usually he would have something to do, like clean out the guns with Dean or some homework, but Sam was left totally free of obligations. Ordinarily this would be a good thing, but Sam hated it. It was an aspect of his life he found all to familiar, but he was stuck with it for now.

Sam impatiently looked at the clock, it was now half past eight and Dean still wasn't back – almost 40 minutes since he had left. That didn't seem right.

Dean was driving, and this town was too small to have a store any more than 5 or 10 minutes away, which meant Dean had either got himself lost or was in some sort of trouble. Sam tried to shut himself up. Surely this was just him overreacting again. It was no use; he couldn't get it off his mind anymore. He sighed impatiently and picked up his wallet, cell phone and the key to the room and walked out the door.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to update, writers block etc. I'm really enjoying writing this story so the next chapter will be up soon, hopefully within the next few days. **

**Please please please review, I rely on reviews to know whether I'm actually doing anything right!**

**Disclaimer: Anything recognizable does not belong to me, and belongs to the CW and the wonderful Eric Kripke; I do not gain any profits etc etc.**

**Slight warnings for language in this chapter, nothing too bad. **

The sharp coldness in the wind slapped Sam in his exposed face, and he wished he had put himself in a warmer coat than the one he was wearing. He was thankful, however, that he was wearing his thick sweatshirt with another jacket over the top. He jammed his fists into his jean pockets in an attempt to shelter them from the cold. Thankful it wasn't raining, Sam crossed the car park and headed for what looked like a convenience store in the distance. The town was deadly silent, and only the occasional car drove past on the road to Sam's left, which was presumably one of the main roads. The gravel under his feet was wet from rain that had since passed, and Sam's head felt a little dizzy when he watched his feet quickly stomping along the ground.

He made it to the convenience store within about ten minutes, and the brightness of the interior forced Sam to squint one eye shut. The radio was playing some quiet, elevator-music sounding song that was too muted to decipher the words. The young guy manning the counter gave Sam a suspicious look, and, realizing how shady he must look, he removed his hood and took his hands out of his pocket.

Sam scanned the inside of the store – no Dean.

He approached the man standing behind the cash register, and noted that his nametag read "Darrell".

"Hi, uh, did a guy come in here, about an hour ago?"  
"Plenty of guys come in here." Darrell responded in a harsh tone, obviously not in the mood to play a game of crime investigation with a sixteen year old.

Sam barely held back a sigh in irritancy, "he's about this tall" Sam held his hand out straight just above his own head, "short, dark hair, dressed kind of like me".

Sam stood back so that Darrell could see his outfit. Darrell scoffed a little and sighed, "yeah, some guy did come in around an hour ago. Bought some food and a magazine."

Sam inwardly laughed; he knew very well what magazine Dean had purchased.

"Yeah, that's him. Do you know which way he left?"

"That way" Darrell pointed in the opposite direction to that which Sam had approached.

_Great_

"Thanks" Sam called as he left the store.

"Yeah don't mention it, kid" Darrell sounded partly sarcastic in his response, but Sam had no time to bother with it.

Double-checking the roads for the impala, to no avail, Sam started speed walking in the direction Darrell had pointed him. Pushing his hands back into his pockets, Sam felt something and nearly slapped himself in the face.

_My cell phone! _

He couldn't believe he'd forgotten something so simple. He whipped out his phone and flipped it open, searching through his contact list for Dean's number. The endless amount of Dean's old girlfriends' numbers in the list grew tiring – Sam's phone was Dean's old one. Finally, under the name _Danielle _was Dean's number.

Sam pressed in the numbers, his fingers barely functioning from the cold. The cell rang, but there was no answer. He tried several more times before he nearly threw his phone to the ground in frustration.

_If he isn't already dead, he will be when I'm finished with him._

Sam turned a corner around the end of the street, where the light of a couple buildings down the end drew his attention.

He walked for about five more minutes, before the sound of approaching voices finally broke the silence around his ears. From the sounds of it, there were three, maybe four men up ahead, but they remained out of sight until Sam walked a little further. In the darkness, Sam could only make out the silhouettes of four men, and another, smaller, slimmer figure to their left. One of the men was leaning over the smaller figure, and they were up against a wall. A little nervous, Sam didn't dare turn back now, as it seemed he had already been spotted. Drawing closer, he could recognize that the four larger figures were a group of young men, who didn't look much older than Sam – maybe 18. The smaller figure was shown to be a petite, fair skinned brunette who looked absolutely terrified. One of the guys was towering over her, and she held out her palms protectively. Sam jammed his fists into his jacket pocket, where he had moved his pocketknife. Not that he was about to just mug the guys like that, but something about them told Sam he should be weary. The group was standing outside a bar of some sort, and the dulled music from inside was muffled by the walls. When Sam was just meters away, he prepared himself to ask the group the same questions he had asked Darrell back at the store, but one of the group members cut him off.

"Who the hell are you?" the gruff voice asked in a threatening tone.

"Uh, my name's Sam. I'm looking for someone"  
"Is that so? Huh? And who might that be? Your _boyfriend_?" the boys around him laughed. Sam was undeniably a little confused by the character's seemingly unjustified vendetta again him.

"Forget it" Sam sighed, turning on his heel to head back the way he came, as the group continued to laugh mockingly. The couple that stood away from the other three was now involved in some sort of domestic dispute.

"Marc, let go of me!" the panicked voice of the girl who Sam had noticed was a pleasant change to the irritating laughs of the men. Unfortunately, the good in Sam couldn't let him walk away from the sound of a girl in trouble. Sam smoothly looked back over his shoulder, revealing that Marc had now gripped the girl's wrists and held her against the wall. The look of absolute fear in her eyes told Sam that this must have happened before, and the remainder of the group seemed oblivious – that or just ignorant. Sam spoke without even thinking, regretting it as soon as the words escaped his mouth.  
"Hey! Let her go!"  
Marc glared at Sam briefly before he released his grip on the girl's arms, and turned towards Sam. The girl whimpered a little and rushed into the bar, letting the sound of the music inside escape briefly through the open doorway.

"And who the fuck are you?" Marc yelled aggressively.

Sam was a little scared now; he hated to admit to himself. Sure, if it had just been him against Marc, he could have taken him no problem. Hell, if it had been him against two of them he could have beaten their asses. But not four; Sam was grossly outnumbered, and so he tried to format his responses carefully.

"I'm nobody" he responded quietly, ensuring that he did not sound the least bit scared, nor cocky. He stepped back a little, but his back ran into one of the gang members.

Startled, Sam whizzed around and stepped back again from him, only to step backwards into Marc.

"I said," Marc started, "who, the fuck, are you?" his face was right up in Sam's now, though he hunched over a little because he was taller, only making Sam feel more unsafe.

"Uh, my name's Sam" he responded, trying to sound as tough as he could, but Sam could recognize the shakiness in his voice. He was a little embarrassed at how freaked he sounded, though he wasn't really that scared at all. He knew that if this gang really did lay a beat down on him, he'd get his ass kicked, but he'd sure as hell get a few swings in first; "Sam Winchester".

"Winchester, huh? Never heard of you, guess you're right. Must be a nobody." Marc's response didn't really hurt Sam in the slightest, _of course you haven't heard of me you dumbass, I only moved here today, _Sam thought to himself.

"What the fuck did you just call me, Winchester?" Marc exclaimed, gripping Sam tightly by the collar. At that moment Sam realized he mustn't have just thought of that response to Marc; he'd said it aloud.

Sam didn't have time to respond. Marc kept his grip on Sam's collar with his left hand, and before Sam knew it he'd swung his right fist directly into the side of his face. The unexpected blow threw Sam to the ground, and he landed on his knees. Recovering from his fall, Sam turned around swiftly to see the four guys closing in on him. Ignoring the warm blood that he could feel trickling down his chin, Sam quickly sprung onto his feet, seemingly surprising Marc and his friends a little.

He didn't want to fight back, correctly assuming that it would elevate the fight and result in more injuries for both parties. But, Sam was not going to allow himself to take a beat-down without defending himself – after all, that just wasn't the Winchester thing to do.

Brushing himself off, Sam transformed his hands into fists, gradually moving his arms up towards his face in protection.

Laughing, Marc nudged his friend by his side, "check this out boys, he actually thinks he's got a chance", the neighboring guys responded with tormenting laughter. "If I were you Winchester, I'd give it up now".

"Go to hell" Sam almost whispered in response, thrusting his right fist in the direction of Marc's face, successfully impacting with his cheekbone. The unexpected impact sent Marc's head flying backwards, and he had to take a couple of reassuring steps to regain his balance.

"Oh, you are so dead" Marc spat, before two of the other guys tackled Sam, pushing him into the nearby dark alley, holding him against the wall and gripping him tightly on either arm, rendering him defenseless.

The other group member walked out towards the road as he lit up a cigarette, attempting to look as casual as possible as he seemingly held the lookout position, ensuring that nobody walked past as the boys beat Sam senseless.

Marc stepped towards Sam, cracking his knuckles as he did so. Sam continued to resist against the other two men who pinned him up against the wall, just managing to release his right arm as he twisted and turned with force.

Taking his opportunity, Sam swung at the face of the man who previously held his arm, placing a satisfying blow to his nose. The man responded by slamming Sam's stomach hard with his fist, effectively winding him as Sam doubled over and gasped for air. A second blow was delivered to his cheek, and Sam once again found himself pinned against the wall, his arms held even tighter than before.

Marc edged closer, shaking his head, "you're gonna regret that, Winchester".

"Fuck off" Sam retorted back, his words echoing the typical sense of invincibility that all teenagers held, as he spat blood from his mouth.

Laughing slightly, Marc delivered three repeated blows to Sam's stomach, and another two to his chest. Sam felt a crack in his left ribcage and, unwillingly, let out a slight grunt in pain. This seemed to only satisfy Marc more, and fuelled the final punch that impacted with Sam's chin. With that, Sam's head flew backwards and the back of his head crashed into the brick wall behind them. Suddenly, the throbbing pains that stemmed from where his head had impacted with the wall began to dull, and hundreds of small black dots filled Sam's eyesight as everything else became darker. He could feel the release of his arms, and someone – Sam wasn't sure who – kicked him to the ground. The last thing Sam heard was the sound of distancing laughter and footsteps until finally, silence.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who's given support so far. Please continue with reviews and suggestions for the story are welcomed!**

**Disclaimer: Anything recognizable does not belong to me, and belongs to the CW and the wonderful Eric Kripke; I do not gain any profits etc etc.**

Sam awoke to the familiar sound of his cell phone vibrating and ringing in his pocket. Groaning as he stirred, he slowly rolled onto his knees and stood up, leaning against the wall for balance as his head spun. At the recognition of the intensifying pain that he felt extending throughout his body, Sam moaned and pressed a shaky hand to the wound on the back of his head, where he felt a warm sticky substance that had dried while he was out; a sharp stinging fed through the wound at his touch, and, hissing, Sam promptly removed his hand from his head.

Sam briefly forgot about the calling cell phone in his pocket, and he quickly reached for it, mentally preparing himself for the lecture he was undeniably about to receive from either Dean or John. As he flipped his phone open to answer, Sam quickly glanced at the time, noting that it was now 11:23pm – almost three hours since he had left; Sam estimated that he must have been unconscious for at least two hours – _shit._

"Sam?!" Dean yelled from the opposite side of the phone line, repeating Sam's name twice when he didn't respond.

"Dean?" Sam asked, sounding confused and a little disoriented.

"Jesus, man. Where the hell are you? I've been calling you for hours. Are you alright?" Dean sounded more concerned than angry, and Sam could only hope that John hadn't arrived home early only to find his youngest missing.

"I don't know" Sam responded groggily, not sure exactly what question he was responding to, but realizing that his answer would be the same for both anyway. As he dizzily walked out of the alleyway towards the light of the street, Sam noticed a familiar looking bar to his right. "I'm at…a bar, I think".

"Shit, Sam, you can hardly talk. How drunk are you right now?"

"Dean I'm n-" 

"I'm gonna kill you, man." Dean interrupted light heartedly, presumably just relieved at hearing that his brother was ok. "Wait there, I'm on my way", and with that, Dean ended the call. Still terribly confused, Sam sat against the wall of the bar with his knees up to his chest, but, upon feeling the pain of moving his body in that way, he grimaced and quickly laid his legs out flat in front of him. Sam gently patted his chest, attempting to understand why he hell it hurt, and what had happened.

Wincing at the pain he immediately received upon touching his ribcage, Sam gingerly lifted his shirt, exposing a multitude of bruises to his stomach and chest.

_What the hell? _He thought to himself, realizing the loss of the past few hours to his memory. Slowly, Sam's mind seemed to be chipping away at itself, attempting to uncover any memory of what had transpired several hours before. Sam's mind spat images of a tall, dark haired man throwing a punch to Sam's chest and stomach, and Sam vaguely sensed that his arms had been held back. This notion was confirmed by the apparent bruising to both of his wrists, where the fingertips of either men holding Sam back had imprinted contusions upon Sam's skin.

Still, Sam mind drew a blank to just about anything else he tried to recall, including how he'd been knocked out cold in the first place. His thoughts were interrupted by the familiar purr of the impala's engine as it swerved around a nearby corner, coming to an abrupt halt in front of the bar with the high pitched screech of rubber on tar.

Sam groaned and winced as he stood up, almost collapsing as a result of the lightheadedness and dizziness that accompanied his movement. Dean watched as Sam stumbled to the car, rolling his eyes at the idiocy that was his little brother. In the dark, Dean could not make out the wounds on Sam's face, and the limp that accompanied Sam's seemingly drunken walk only seemed to Dean to be a similar result of his apparent alcohol consumption.

Sam pulled open the passenger door with very little force due to his weakness, and he practically dropped onto the seat before his head rolled towards the window, Sam felt so fatigued he thought that he may just fall asleep right there. Dean started the engine and pulled onto the road after staring at Sam for a moment and realizing that he did not intend to converse. The car trip continued in silence until Dean pulled up in the motel parking lot; shutting the engine off, Dean turned his attention to Sam.

"What the hell were you thinking Sam? Sneaking out like that – drinking? You could have at least answered your phone." When Sam gave Dean no response, he continued "hey. HEY!", as he punched Sam on the shoulder. This seemed to bring Sam to his senses, and he snapped awake and turned to Dean.

Dean's eyes widened in the sudden revelation of Sam's wounded face; his right eye was circled by a swollen purple bruise, both cheekbones were bruised and dried blood lay in tracks flowing from Sam's nose and running down his chin, staining his shirt. Quickly snapping to attention, Dean cupped Sam's cheek a little too forcefully and Sam groaned at the pain it caused.

"What the hell happened to you? Sam?"

"I…I don't know." 

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I can't…remember properly."

"Alright, lets get you inside. Come on" Dean pulled Sam gently from the car seat, wrapping his arm around Sam's' waist as he practically dragged him inside. Dean lay Sam down on the nearest bed, quickly turning back to close the door and replace the salt line that protected the doorway. Switching the light on as he returned, Dean collected the first aid kit and a wet face towel in order to tend to Sam's wounds.

Wiping away at the dried blood on Sam's chin, Dean subconsciously clicked his tongue before he began his interrogation.

"Sam, I need you to think for me, tell me what happened, ok?" Sam just stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment until Dean continued, "Sammy? Can you do that for me?"

"I said… I told you, Dean, I don't remember. I mean… I think I remember some guys beating on me, or whatever, but I got no idea…" Sam paused and swallowed, "…who they were, or why they were beating me up. Crap, I don't even know what I was doing at that bar" Sam waved his hands groggily in the air in front of his face in an attempt to exaggerate his story, but at the same time not really sure what the hell he was doing. His brain just wasn't functioning at the right speed, it seemed.

Dean carefully gripped Sam's arms, careful to avoid the bruising on his wrists – but not forgetting what that meant, someone was holding Sam back when whoever those sons of bitches are were beating him to a pulp,  
_Damn, how many were there? _Dean wondered.

Slowly moving Sam's arms back down to his sides, Dean attempted to calm his brother, not missing the now bleedingly obvious signs of a concussion – no wonder he though he was drunk.

"Alright man, calm down; don't want you hurting yourself any more. Lets just get you into bed, okay? Maybe you'll remember a bit better after you get some rest." After Dean had finished cleaning Sam's wounds, which inevitably led to the discovery of Sam's injuries that had previously gone unseen, Dean was positively fuming. These bastards hadn't just roughed Sam around; they'd really gone to town on his ass. Dean knew one thing for sure; there was no way in hell they were getting away with this. He tucked Sam into bed and continued to make himself comfortable on a lounge chair next to Sam's bed – he would be taking no risks with something like a concussion. Dean would be watching over Sam until he woke, and even then, he knew, he'd unlikely take his eyes of his psycho-magnet brother.


End file.
